On Those Days
by KillingKathy
Summary: To tell the Truth, England isn't the only one who doesn't understand America. A USUK Tribute


**1.)** _When__ I first see you taking an interest in something, it's on my old TV which I never use, screaming as somebody jumps off a building in a Chicago drama, something that I never understood and still haven't to this day. _

England sometimes thinks that he doesn't get America-from the inside out, to his devlished hair and crooked glasses that are always hanging off his nose in a corkscrewed fashion. To his loose fitting clothes that went no where as _far _as sophisticated, no matter what England did to coax him into a decent form fitting suit and dress pants.

On those days, he and America ignore each other, each smarting over the hurtful words that were thrown, each regretting each argument that they tossed at each other, over and over again.

But it's always America who goes running into his room at the most unexpected times, mostly at night, and England is too familiar now with the wail _"Artieee-" _and he knows that he shouldn't be, but some part of him actually revels in that sound.

**2.) **_The first time we actually go out and do something together, you seemed tastefully disinterested, until we met Japan and you got revered up again to meet the country who created 'Pokemon.' I didn't even know that Pokemon was a Japanese game until you barged into my room, screaming about how the language was wrong and you couldn't trade with another trainer. _

.

America was the only thing that England allowed himself to outwardly possess, holding the boy's hand tightly as they crossed the street of the busy intersection of New York.

But it's always England that grips his hand, but it's always America who squeezes back, smiling brightly up at the older nation.

And England can't help but think how young he was, yet so powerful already.

It's on those days where America wanders off into a gaming store, leaving him outside and watching through the glass windows with a vague sort of expression, and the only thing he can see in the reflection is his eyebrows, prominently standing out against the rest of his face..

And whenever America comes out, it's always with a 'League of Legends' or 'Call of Duty' and England will never admit it, but when America is playing late at night, and the boy falls asleep, sometimes England takes the game counsel from his hands and saves for him, then going on a playing-but never saving for himself.

On those days, it's when England pulls a warm blanket over the younger nation, and even though America will never know, he embroidered a section of it with a Calligraphic A, which he hopes that America will appreciate but that has never been brought up.

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**3.) **_To my horror, for my birthday, you give me a pair of eyebrow tweezers, which I just stood with in my hands, bemused. Until you burst out laughing and pointed at me, chidingly, saying that if I tweezed my eyebrows, then I wouldn't look so ridiculous-and I laughed along, with the expected scowl and playful head knock, because I was used to this bantering-but it sounded different from you and I didn't want you to be like that. _

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It's on those days when America laughs in delight and slings an arm around him, and England can feel the vibrations deep in his chest.

It's on those days when England feels like he and America will be united forever.

"_Drop dead!" _It is a winter day when America says that, pointing an accusing finger at England that's trembling slightly.

And England opens and closes his mouth, wanting to say how he was _tired _and needed funds-and goddammit it all, he was fighting over America with that bastard France, and did you know how poor he was now?

America moves out a week later, and England doesn't tell him to stop or 'come back'.

It is a spring day in June when they decide to boycott, and England is watching in horror as his ships of tea and merchandise sink down into the sea-tons of precious tea, imported all the way from China-and never be seen again.

And America actually has the audacity to _laugh_ at England, snickering behind black gloves that England has never seen before, and then pulling the weary nation into a hug, whispering in his ear that _they could be together again _and that offer is so tempting, but England pushes it away.

Then the revolution starts.

The first time England faces America on a battlefield, it is a clear day in May, at Gettysburg. America is practically snarling, facing England with a furious face, and all England can do is think _why _and _when _did we come to this and can't this just end now?

When America lunges for him this time, it's not for a hug, a welcoming grin and a 'You're back!', it's with an intention to kill him, and England can do nothing but fight back uselessly, monotonically moving through the motions.

This is the main reason why America wins the revolution.

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**4.) **_I had always thought that forever and eternity were the same, and you argued different, but without a reason why, so I went to China to ask, but all he did was wail and clutch his hair as the Qing Dynasty fell, hissing between his teeth and squeezing his eyes together. I never got why Chinese were supposed to have small eyes. China's certainly seems big enough. _

_._

There is no compromise for the revolution, and for awhile, England actually hopes that everything has died down, that he doesn't have to compromise with America anymore, because honestly he is tired, and exhausted, too much so to even bother reading his favorite book as he falls asleep on his unmade bed.

But when they meet at Vicksburg, it is America who cries, _"I want Freedom!" _And England can do nothing but lower his gunpoint slightly, trying to disguise the trembling in his hands.

The battle goes horribly, and England loses.

And in the end, he finds himself saying, "So be it." In a voice that seemed strangely alien to himself, signing the contract with hands that seemed to move on their own.

.

**5.) **_After that, things actually return to a different set of normal-you're at my house a lot, and sometimes a little drunk and complaining that your people are taking an interest in British Accents and Shows, and all I do is roll my eyes and sigh, cleaning up after the mess you've made on the doormat with your muddy shoes. And you heedlessly rant on and on, and finally I tell you that you're only 600 years old, calm down. You shut up after that. _

_._

Sometimes when England sees America with Japan, they're talking together-well, more like America talking and Japan nodding slightly. But England can't help but think how it was once him and America who were like that, and they still are, just not as close anymore.

On America's birthday, he throws a party that England will never forget, full of strange American customs and dancing. And England vaguely remembers through the haze of drinks that America pulls him onto the floor to dance. It's black after that and England can't remember any more.

On days like that, it's England who gets hangover and coughing over the toilet, vomiting up his insides while America look on, soothingly pulling England's sweaty bangs back and rubbing small circles on his back, telling him stories in a soft voice. Strange. It was always the reverse before.

.

**6.) **_You__ manufacture. The buildings and factories in your country are huge, and whenever you show them off to me with pride, yelling that you were the best-I dryly mumble that China has more, and you look at me in disbelief and distinct betrayal, but then laugh and pull me into a tight hug, burying your face in my hair. When did you grow so tall? And how did I not notice? _

_._

There are few things made in America that England would buy. But all his sketch pencils and art supplies come from China, who charges him massive fees, but nevertheless, he buys from Japan and China because he likes their brands.

America can't understand him when he does that, shaking his head and snorting at England's persistence for top-quality supplies, telling him over and over that he's going to run out of funds if he keeps buying those 'goddamn expensive' art supplies, but sometimes England catches America looking at his paintbrushes with something close to jealously, and brushing a sketch pencil slightly, smiling.

So England's not surprised when America asks him to draw a portrait of himself, even though the other nation was furiously denying the fact that he liked England's drawings.

When America shows up in his house, it's in a hideous outfit that would send the gods reeling, complete with an Indian turban. And it's on those days that England wonders in disbelief how America became such a mix of cultures. Even China's complaining that all Chinese students are going to American schools.

When England does draw America, the country does a different set of poses, smirking and asking England if he wanted a 'sexier' one. And England just sighs and waves his hand dismissively, telling him to shut up or his face would look like one of Picasso's drawings.

**7.)** _It's __a well known fact that most of your food comes from other places. China, Japan, Mexico, France, Italy-but there's nothing ever in America that's original to that place. When you saw the hamburger, you were ecstatic after taking the first bite, even showing up at my house and waving a plastic bag of 'McDonalds' for me to try. And finally I did, but it was too oily and greasy for my liking, so I told you that I would stick with Fish and Chips. _

It's a well known fact that England doesn't have the best food. So whenever America comes over to his house, he always brings something edible to eat, like chips and such. On those days, England doesn't have to attempt the horrendous art of cooking, and instead lies on the couch with America, chewing on a potato chip as the other nation rambles on and on about their new model of airplane. On those days, England just nods and continues eating the chips until there's nothing left in the bag but air.

England likes writing. America doesn't. But somehow they sign up for the same poetry class, by some strange twist of fate, England is stupefied when it's America's poem that reaches him the most, America's poem that haunts his mind when he's in his bed or brushing his teeth with white foam, America's poem that eventually makes him cry, all alone in his bed, clutching his soaked pillow to his chest for a desperate source of warmth.

America doesn't say anything about England's poem.

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**8.) **_You__ like winter. Screaming and throwing up snow around, even sometimes trying to catch flakes on your tongue, I chide you and say that it's nothing but frozen water, but you think otherwise, scowling and shoving a snowball in my face, and to be honest, it doesn't taste like water after all. But I never told you. There are lots of things I've never told you. _

_Is that okay? _

_._

When they take walks, America always entwines his arm with England's, and the other nation leans back on him, frequently closing his eyes and listening to America's vibrant voice, so full of color, and England wonders if this is 'seeing' sound, and if he was going insane after all, but he dismisses that, huddling deeper into his scarf.

America's singing does not coax the birds out of their lovely warm nests to come and land on his arm. It's the opposite, actually. When America sings, England makes sure to close all the doors and windows first, so that all the neighbors don't have to suffer through this pain.

When America sings, all England can do it grit his teeth with detrimental determination, only thought in mind to survive the hour.

It's on those days when they go visit Italy and Spain, listening to dramatic Italian opera, occupied by Italy's frequent 've ve's.'

It's on those days when they visit Spain, listening to the soft soothing sound of the guitar, laying together on the couch, while Spain sings. It's beautiful, honestly. Spanish music is full of trills and chords, and a low rumbling tenor, and for the good of the universe, England wishes with all his heart that America doesn't become Spanish.

**9.) **_It's__ on winters where I bury myself deep into a scarf, while you restlessly jump and scramble around, whooping about the snowfall. It's on those days where you try to coax me to join you, It's on those days following that I have to help you with the hypothermia that you eventually get, idiot. _

Winter was the day when the America Revelation started taking shape, winter were days in the harsh WWI and WWII when they had to huddle together to keep warmth, fingers and toes feeling like they were going to fall off into a pit, Winter were the days full of tragedy and hypothermia, laughter and snowballs, Beautiful and Ugly, and England mostly felt like Winter was together.

But was that weird? Was that normal? Was that wrong? Did he care anymore?

Italian statues are all naked. Or, 'nude' would be the correct term. But every time England takes America on a museum trip or tour, all America can do is bring a black sharpie in his pocket and snicker at the male statue's little 'thing' and draw something highly inappropriate on the face.

But that's America, and England's too used to apologizing profoundly to the guard about this mess.

Sometimes he wonders whey he even brings America along at all.

**10.) **(_Hey_,_ you know…)_

The door opens and a gust of wind comes in, blowing England's pages across the room. The nation sighs and reaches to get them, while a animated voice comes, "I brought cake!"

England just looks at America, deadpanning.

When England's in the kitchen, making food, or attempting to, at least, America shoves him aside, declaring that he _can _make other things despite hamburgers being his favorite, but he would change it this time, 'just for you, Artie~'

But England doesn't believe him. And when America opens the door from the kitchen, it would be a lie to say that England is not fully expecting Hamburgers, but there are Italian pasta and Spanish Burritos, Chinese dumplings and 'hotpot', Japanese sushi and flan for dessert, and numerous of French desserts with spun crystal sugar that's a transparent shimmer. There are even some English Scones, and England tries those first, because those are 'safe' and he can honestly think that it's better than any he's made himself.

But he doesn't tell America that.

Later, when they eat the cake, America doesn't light all the candles that he's supposed to. Instead, he puts _one _candle on the cake, takes _one _top-hat and puts it on the table, takes _one _step to England, then kisses England once, murmuring-

"_Happy Birthday." _

* * *

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY KLICKS! :D **Aha, this is a bit early for a birthday present, but who cares, right? ^^

Anyway, as you know, I'm sending you another gift, so this crappy fanfiction isn't all. But I hoped you enjoyed semi-serious USUK; I thought my other RussiaXAmerica fanfic was too much crack.

…yeah.

I know that it's not England's birthday…and goddammit all the dates in the fanfic are wrong, so don't depend on this for your history test. I'm serious. YOU WILL FAIL.

But anyway, thank you for reading!

K.K

P.S Reviews make me happy.


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